Twilight of the White Rajahs

By Alex Ling

Power, passion, politics. The sleepy state of Sarawak is stirred up as never before by the arrival of Gerald McBryan. An unscrupulous adventurer, he soon has the Rajah and Ranee eating out of his hand. The eminence grise of Rajah Vyner, he forces through decisions that have shaped what Sarawak is today.

Twilight of the White Rajahs is set in the Sarawak of the interwar and immediate postwar period. Vyner, like Henry VII of England, has inherited a tightly run ship of state. But his own playboy nature, the antics of his wife and most important his failure to produce a male heir, threaten the dynasty into which he was born. Outside forces also increase the pressure on his regime. War clouds in the Pacific and the South China Sea. The desire for self-determination. The bullying of the British Colonial Office. The turbulent wave of anti-cession created by the Rajah Muda, Peter Brooke.

A war of hot tempers, cunning and deviousness ensued; a war that everyone was determined to win at all costs.

Twilight of the White Rajahs recounts in fascinating detail the lives of the chief actors during this period. Twilight of the White Rajahs continues the saga of Golden Dreams of Borneo as the tough pioneering spirit of the 19th century gives way to the more sophisticated politics of the 20th.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Mar 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479791675

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Copyright © 2013 by Alex Ling.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013902462

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4797-9166-8

              Softcover    978-1-4797-9165-1

              Ebook         978-1-4797-9167-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/04/2013

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Contents

Foreword

Author’s Note

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Part One: 1918 – 1941

Part Two: 1942 – 1945

Part Three: 1946 – 1952

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to the memory of my beloved mother,

Puan Sri Datuk Amar Ting Pick Ding.

TO MY BELOVED WIFE IVY

For years in patient silence she did suffer

Giving me the time to golf, to write, to prosper.

Though I have unwittingly neglected her in some ways,

Yet she has shown me the right family scores and fairways.

Bringing up four dear children is no mean feat—

Without them, life would definitely be incomplete.

Her temper’s occasionally quick to light,

But only to put me on the path that’s right—

Wrongly to equate the beliefs of metaphysics with true vision

Is to believe David Copperfield’s magic as not illusion,

And to set in the scales against censure,

I proffer gratitude without measure.

With her loving understanding, and free from tension

I’ll swing smoother like Tiger Woods to 2020 Vision.

ILLUSTRATION

Kuching Town – Water Front, 1949

List of Maps

Map of Sarawak

Kuching Town

Map of Batu Lintang Camp

Foreword

A historical novel set in Sarawak is always fascinating to read, especially if it depicts the historical watersheds and momentous events that made Sarawak what it is today.

Indeed, it is true that politics without history has no roots; and history without politics bears no fruits. So it was true too in Sarawak when the beat of the war drum of cession from a century of Brookes’ rule to the British government echoed through the towns, kampongs, longhouses and tropical virgin forest, amidst protests of anti-cession streaming mainly from the Abang class of Malays—some radicals too—some Ibans and of course, the Tuan Muda, Bertram, and his son, Anthony Brooke. In fact most people did not understand what cession would entail except that the King of England would replace the Rajah and the Governor would actually represent the King in Sarawak.

On balance, the results of the cession of Sarawak so that it became a Crown Colony were not altogether without blessings. Despite the popular allegation of colonial exploitation by a colonial master—to a certain degree true—the peoples of Sarawak have benefited especially from the British legal system, the financial system, the trading relationships, the professional training and education at home and in Great Britain and the tradition of the civil service.

Many young people in the country do not know the history of their own country. Such a historical novel written by Alex Ling—easy to read and digest—will enlighten and bring awareness of the perspectives and the critical issues and turning points at different milestones in Sarawak’s history, and illustrate some outstanding personalities and characters, places of historical importance and interest and Sarawak’s rich cultural heritage. Nobody can alter the past except historians and writers. All that will whet the palates of foreign visitors as well as locals. All history tends to throw light on the present and point to the future.

Through this historical novel, one can feel the pulse and comprehend the background of the momentous events and decisions—right or wrong—at various times made by various personalities which many young Malaysians would benefit from knowing. In it are the hopes, dreams, aspirations, nightmares, dedications and self-sacrifices or the frustrations, intrigues, negative ideas and influences of those trying times, during which some people suffered while others prospered or built new destinies or fortunes for themselves or Sarawak. As Maitland once said The importance of history is not what happened but what people thought or said about it.

I hope more local people will take up the challenge of writing stories of their own people and culture in order to let others enjoy the fruits of their research and thoughts and in the process bare the hearts and souls of the living past. It would be a great tradition for Sarawakians to build up; and a tradition that all Sarawakians would justifiably be proud of at all times.

Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Haji Abdul Taib bin Mahmud

Chief Minister of Sarawak

Kuching

May 1997

Author’s Note

L egends have always haunted the shadows of history. Understandably, as one could say history is past politics and politics present history. Whether the truth of the legends of the Brooke family, its legacies and intrigues were written in the sand of Santubong Beach or in the waters of Sarawak River or even in the Brooke files in the Bodleian Library, in Oxford or in the historical debris scattered between Sheepstor, Devon, and the Sarawak Museum, the most important and fascinating facets of the Brookes’ legends and history lie in the interpretations of and extra-polations from historical events or the private lives of people that have breathed life and soul into this historical novel.

This little book is a sequel to the previous historical and semi-romantic novel titled Golden Dreams of Borneo.

Some of the characters are real while others are fictitious. Some events are fictitious but those momentous events that did take place could have occurred quite differently from how they are described in this book. Any similarities to any living characters are purely coincidental.

In general the period encompassed in the book does portray to a great extent the moving spirit, the philosophy, the feeling, ambience and issues, before, during and at the end of the romantic era of the White Rajah Brookes. That century-old dynasty was prematurely ended by the devastating Japanese Occupation of Sarawak and the Far East during the Second World War and the hasty British colonisation of Sarawak—ending perhaps sadly the dreams of many Rajah’s servants and sentimental supporters and fellow-travellers.

By some, cession to Britain for financial and practical reasons was labelled as a ‘sell-out’ and a betrayal of trust by the Brookes; however, characters such as Gerald McBryan, the extremely able but unstable Private Secretary of Rajah Charles Vyner, the third Rajah, had created a web of intrigue to force cession through in the Council Negri and Supreme Council of Sarawak—by threats of classifying the anti-cessionists as Japanese collaborators, by bribing the Malay chief with money and the title of Turtle Island and by sending officers opposed to cession on furloughs. Stephen Young did what he thought was best for Sarawak and the Brookes. Worst of all, the dream of the would-be fourth Rajah, Peter Brooke, was shattered beyond hope.

In this historical novel, Rajah Vyner, Gerald McBryan, Peter Brooke, Stephen Young and their important clashes are shown against the historical backdrop of this turbulent period of the sunset of the Rajah Brookes dynasty, in a way that gives an insight into the depths, strengths and weaknesses of the peoples and the government involved in making the decision to cede Sarawak to the British government. But then the unexpected and violent reactions of some Sibu Malays sent the country reeling—far beyond the imagination of Sarawak’s peace-loving and good-natured inhabitants.

Whatever one’s view may be on the Brookes’ history and legend, the story is basically a Sarawak story. It’s a romance and a legend that had to end—if only because Sarawak had to move forward with the times, though there were other reasons too. I hope the novel will provide enjoyment, understanding and enrichment to the readers who want to share Sarawak’s experience, Sarawak’s struggle and how the path was chosen to ultimate independence. It was a success story decked with thorns, agony and ecstasy.

In the end, although academically one may argue whether the means did justify the end on the issue of cession, today, however, Sarawak has clearly benefited from the transitional rule of the British Colonial Government before it achieved independence within Malaysia in 1963—that is after 17 years as a Crown Colony after the end of the Second World War. Was Sarawak lucky? Yes. Why? Sarawak was given independence while Indonesia had to fight for it.

Indeed, the legacies of the Brookes and the British Colonial Government had laid a solid foundation for Sarawak’s local leaders to build Sarawak to what it is today, with such a tolerant, progressive, multi-racial and unique cultural heritage. All well-wishers, investors and eco-tourists can share and savour its delightful sights and music, the fruits of its vibrant economy, its kaleidoscopic colours and fresh tropical air. Indeed, Sarawak has always been a land of raw virgin beauty! A pristine beauty that never fades, never fails to radiate freshness, a sense of newness and the deeper meaning underlying the harmonious confusion that is the chaos of nature and, indeed, of the whole universe.

I hope readers will get as much joy from reading as I have had in writing this historical novel. If a higher level of understanding of Sarawak’s people, history and cultural heritage is gained by readers, then, as a Sarawakian author, I cannot ask for more. My effort would not have been in vain to make Sarawak proud. The story of Sarawak’s unique past with its proud tradition and cultural heritage—and its successes and achievements—will leave behind indelible impressions in their minds, I hope, as well as entertaining them.

Acknowledgement

T he Brookes, familiarly known as the white Rajahs, administered Sarawak on the north-west corner of the Island of Borneo from 1841 to 1946. Theirs was a unique dynasty. For this novel, Twilight of the White Rajahs —sequel to Golden Dreams of Borneo —I am indebted to my learned friends who have, in no small way, contributed to my more perceptive understanding of the period. The romantic era of the White Rajah Brookes and the dynastic dreams of the Heir Presumptive and Heir Apparent ended when Sarawak became a British Crown Colony after a fierce battle between the cessionists and anti-cessionists.

I should particularly like to acknowledge the following for their assistance in this respect: Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Haji Abdul Taib bin Mahmud, Datuk Adenan Satem, Professor R.H.W. Reece, Lord Tanlaw, Tan Sri Datuk Amar Bujang Nor and Denis Chang Kheng Lee.

Any errors of interpretation are my own.

sdgsag.jpg

Prologue

‘I mean there are several fringe benefits. The Malay ladies are pretty and dainty. You can have four of them at any time or different stages of your life. I would imagine that the first one is a necessity; the second a luxury; the third suffering; and the fourth punishment.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. But I can tell you this: Allah is great, merciful and understanding. After all, man is the basic cause for women’s dislike of one another. We are the only animal that eats when he is not hungry, drinks when he is not thirsty, that goes to sleep when he is not sleepy and gets up when he is, and makes love in all seasons,’ explained Gerald.

For a moment, Stephen imagined Gerald to be a fallen god who still remembered the heavens…

‘Stephen, you are already a married man. I may be a born cynic. The book of marriage begins in poetry in the first chapter and ends in prose. It’s like a bloody romantic novel in which the hero dies in the preface.’

‘I say… you do have weird ideas on love and marriage.’

‘Bah! marriage is but a tomb of love. Bernard Shaw once said: Marriage is like a fortress. Those who are in want to come out and those who are out want to go in. In the end both parties are disappointed when the curiosity or the so-called romance wears off. In real life it seems to begin with Prince Charming kissing an alluring angel. After a while, it ends up with a fat, bald-headed man looking across the table at a fat grumpy woman behind the unfinished potatoes, and unwashed plates and grubby glasses.’

‘Gerald, I think the world is not safe with you around, especially the women.’

Image%203.tif

Kuching Town—Water Front, 1949.

Chapter 1

O n a cool afternoon, on a smooth sea, with the sun obscured by layers of cumulo-nimbus clouds, a long wooden boat, the Sri Sarawak , manned by four Sea Dayak braves, was drifting aimlessly in the Batang Lupar estuary in the Second Division of Sarawak, in the north-west of the island of Borneo. On the far horizon stood a lonely granite rock, the Triso Rock, sculpted since the beginning of time by tidal bores and waves.

From a distance, the boat appeared to be just a speck in the boundless South China Sea, the sea which has washed the shores of the Land of the Hornbills, Sarawak, from time immemorial. In this rugged belt of Borneo, a patchwork, divided by a network of tea-coloured rivers, of marshy swamps, tidal mud-flats, short stretches of sandy beaches and riotous tropical rainforest, dwelled colourful and diverse races of mongoloid origin—Ibans, Land Dayaks, Malays, Melanaus, Chinese, Orang Ulu and others.

Two mad dogs—or more precisely two Scots, not Englishmen—Stephen Young and Gerald McBryan, officers or ‘servants’, as they were generally known, of the Rajah Brookes of Sarawak, twitched their fishing lines intermittently as if challenging the fish to a mini tug-of-war. The two men sat utterly relaxed on the forty-foot longboat, sipping at their drinks and waiting patiently for the battle. A sporadic breeze gave some relief from the oppressive humidity.

‘I must be mad to come fishing with you out here on this dangerous estuary—it’s not just the frequent tidal bores but they say the biggest and fiercest crocodiles in Sarawak lurk round here,’ complained Stephen Young.

‘I couldn’t agree more. It’s that vein of madness and risk-taking in my blood that drives and inspires me to reach greater heights of achievement—an urge to challenge—a reason to live. I would not have chosen it any other way,’ replied Gerald McBryan philosophically. ‘Life is too short to be complacent, doing the mundane things.’

‘I’m afraid my heart is not that strong.’

‘Come, come, all Scots are tough cookies. They go to places where no other races dare to go; we stay in harsh environments which many fainthearts would leave within twenty-four hours of arrival. In life, we have to be mad enough, hungry enough to achieve great things. I perform better under pressure.’

Stephen thought perhaps Shakespeare was right: a madman and a genius is almost the same.

‘Besides, the Bujang Lapuk and Bujang Senang, the famous crocodiles, only take Sea Dayaks according to the legend,’ added Gerald.

‘You don’t believe that nonsense. Surely not!’

‘God knows what better instincts other creepy creatures have compared to humans.’

‘I hope you are right.’

‘Incidentally, you know my father, an eminent neurologist—if I may be boastful about it—owns and runs a private mental hospital in Bath.’

‘Really? That’s interesting.’ Stephen surmised that that explained a lot about Gerald’s Dr-Jekyll-and-Mr-Hyde behaviour. All Brooke’s officers by then knew that Gerald, though brilliant, versatile and resourceful, was a Machiavellian to the core. A mad genius, who suffered lapses of dementia and who was, to put it mildly, highly strung. For him, metaphysical dreams and nightmares, hantu ghosts and apparitions were normal. The discordant music of nature of the jungle surrounding him at night would cause him to close all the window shutters and sweat feverishly under his pillows. He shared the local Dayak and Malay belief in hantu ghosts.

‘I am not sure whether I am a chip off the old block. Do you know something? Once my father told me that he had to dye half his hair black and half white so as to gain the trust of his mental patients and get them to confide their real personal problems in him.’

Yes, that explained it. For the first time Stephen felt a slight fear of what Gerald might have up his sleeve—he was liable to do something reckless, dangerous or just plain stupid. Gerald’s medical history was public knowledge—a man with a complicated soul and plainly demented. But his insanity only destroyed his reason, not his wit and intelligence.

‘That’s interesting. It must be quite an experience to be able to delve into their minds, find out what sparks off their madness and where possible to take necessary preventive or remedial actions.’

‘I can tell you a lot on that subject.’

‘I don’t doubt it. I suppose madmen think the whole world is mad except themselves.’ Stephen decided to fish for more details.

‘Yes, in a manner of speaking. Every now and then we need a few mad people around to see where the sane ones have landed us. It’s all relative, you know. Just as Shakespeare says: There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet earth is the mental institution of the universe. And worst of all, insanity is hereditary: you can get it even from your children. Damn it!’ suddenly Gerald cursed, as his fishing line twitched. ‘The damned fish has just stolen the bait. Wait! Maybe not. Aha! What have we got here!’

Quickly, Gerald reeled in his line. He sweated. His face was a picture of boyish anxiety. Slowly, a four-inch long fish, possibly a black pomfret, struggled to be free—not from a hook in its mouth but on its tail.

Stephen burst into laughter. He would not have believed if he had not seen Gerald struggling to unhook that fish by the tail.

‘It must be a mad fish! Unlucky too!’

‘That’s a most humiliating experience, I must say,’ grumbled Gerald with slight exaggeration.

‘Who cares? Like the proverbial golfer: Nobody asks how you score, but only what’s your score.’

‘I guess it’s my lucky day then. You know, speaking of luck, I met an Indian astrologer in Singapore some time ago. He told me that I must act on what I believe to achieve power and success in life. Except that the ups and downs will come thick and fast. He kept reminding me about my health. He said I would have great success with people—especially women. He said my career prospects were terrific, except I will have to contend with a lot of troublesome petty people around me. I have to be circumspect at all times.’

‘Do you believe all that?’

‘Sometimes and to a certain degree. Somehow I believe that sometimes we have to suffer—whether sickness, pain or loss of money, etc—before we can achieve something great or successful. It’s a sort of Karma. Sort of like Jesus coming to suffer and die for us and mortals doing penance to get spiritual grace…’

‘I don’t know about that. Perhaps there is an element of truth in it…’

‘Sometimes it’s useful to know something about it, but one shouldn’t be a slave to fortune-telling like Gladys and Peter [The wife and son of the Tuan Muda, Bertram Brooke]. Sorry, just now you wanted to say something…’

‘Someone, I think it was Nellie Boult, the wife of the D.O. in Limbang, told me that you have always believed in ghosts…’

‘Certainly I do… I once saw an enormous ghost rising from the sea as I was taking my watch… It was that high…’ Gerald gestured with his hands and eyes to demonstrate.

‘Were you frightened?’

‘Initially but not after a few seconds.’

Stephen recalled what Nellie Boult had said of Gerald—a charming and exquisitely mannered young man but highly-strung and quite unbalanced.

They toasted each other with Scotch, looking towards the far horizon where several round-headed Irrawaddy dolphins were looking for their meals.

‘I must say His Highness Rajah Vyner is rather impressed with your achievement at Kapit in bringing together the Kayans and Sea Dayaks to smoke pipe after your intervention.’

‘Thank you. I hope the Rajah will entrust me with more important state matters, more challenging, complicated and difficult tasks.’

‘Don’t worry. It might happen sooner than you expect. Oh yes! I’ve just remembered that Ranee Sylvia wants to ask you on something, yes, something about female succession under Salic and Islamic law and precedents.’

‘That’s interesting! I am sure I can make a great impression on her. I have studied quite a lot about Islamic laws and practices with my guru, Abang Morshidi, who incidentally taught me Malay and Jawi. I can read the Quran backwards.’

‘Really! That’s terrific!’

‘Not at all. You know something. I constantly dream of becoming the White Rajah of a pan-Islamic Empire stretching from Morocco to Sarawak, British North Borneo, Brunei, Malaya, Indonesia and the Southern Philippines.’

‘You mean like a T.E. Lawrence of the Far East instead of Lawrence of Arabia.’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.’

‘I must say, you look more handsome than him,’ teased Stephen.

‘Thank you. You are most kind. I’ll take it even if it’s a fulsome compliment.’

A little dash of flattery would not do any harm, thought Stephen.

Dark-haired Gerald was handsome, tall and slim, endowed with pianist’s long fingers and a prominent nose like that of a King’s Counsel. His glittering grey-green eyes, narrow and bright, were restless but resolute, and curiously compelling. They indicated that once he knew what he wanted, he would go on until he got it, no matter how much it cost him—or others. Even with his pallid skin he was extremely good-looking. He was a brilliant linguist, a man of great personal gifts and utterly persuasive; however, he made no effort to conceal his veins of unscrupulousness, wild ambition and a curious mental instability. He looked like a Arabian prince in his white robe and eigal. In fact, his was a classically devious face but Gerald had a hearty laugh that charmed every one he wanted it to.

According to the Chinese art of face reading Gerald had a ‘mu’ face—longer than most and rectangular—signifying a man who would be resourceful, creative and very domineering—a very assertive, strong character. His straight ‘tiger’ profile nose—slightly pointed at the end—belonged to one who could achieve fame and wealth; his brilliant ‘wolf’—sharp and cunning—matching eyes with ‘yue mei’ eyebrows—refined and slightly arched—showed brilliance, albeit with a tendency to be emotional at times; the ensemble was only marred by the profile of his lips with the upper lip set back and lower lip protruding, which would portray selfishness and inconsiderateness. The redeeming feature was his ‘dragon mouth’—forming a straight line, firm and well defined—that would depict a person with the luck to acquire high office and some fortune. But like Julius Caesar his fa Ling and hollow cheeks would indicate that he might meet a violent death.

In contrast, Stephen had a ‘wang’ face—slightly rectangular—with a prominent forehead and chin, promising a disciplined and resourceful person who would have the quality of leadership and enjoy a successful career. He had elongated ears with well-defined lobes, promising long life and strong support from his friends and associates.

‘Stephen, when it comes to the crunch, in this world there are two distinct orders of men—the devoted advocates of power and the lovers of freedom. But I have no time for the latter.’

‘I thought there were two kinds of men—the deadly and the dead.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. However, life should be action not defensive contemplation. One cannot discover new oceans unless one has the courage to lose sight of the shore. I’ll have none of this negative idea that the history of mankind is little else than a narrative of designs which have failed, and hopes that have been disappointed.

‘Every man must be a history of the world for himself; and beneath every gravestone lies a world’s history.’

‘I see you are out to create history at all costs.’

‘Well, history never remembers the middlings but only the great and the good or the bad and the ugly ones.’

‘You are an incorrigible dreamer! Aren’t you?’

‘I suppose you could say that. But only up to a point. I am sure you have heard that new ideas rarely originate from someone who is scared of being wrong.’

‘In that context what are your dreams?’

‘Really, if you want to know… I would like to unite the fragmented Muslims of this region in a new, loose but powerful confederation,’ Gerald proudly confided. ‘Like Thomas Jefferson, I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past.’

‘Well, it’s stated in the Bible that young men shall dream dreams; old men shall see visions.’

‘The difference is that I am doing both.’

‘That can’t be easy. Good luck!’

‘Nothing is easy in life, Stephen. Everything you want you have to plan for, to fight for, to try and try until you bloody well succeed. There are no short cuts. Great men are almost always bad men… there is no worse heresy than that the office sanctifies the holder of it. Indeed, all power tends to corrupt anyway… we had better accept that. I really believe that the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.’ He was grinding his teeth as if to reinforce his statement vehemently.

‘But how on earth do you plan to achieve your vision?’

‘I am seriously thinking of embracing Islam one day. Yes…’

‘Good heavens! You can’t be serious! Gerald, my fellow Scotsman.’

‘Yes, I can.’ He replied gravely as if he meant it.

‘Why on earth do you entertain such radical ideas? It’s just like someone in the Brooke regime embracing the communism of Stalin and Lenin.’

‘Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about Islam.’

‘I grant you that but… tell me.’

Now Stephen was convinced that there were definite streaks of madness in the brilliant linguist and political animal.

‘Do you remember the case of Junit bin Ongre, a Bruneian Malay who slaughtered two Chinese servants of the former Resident of Limbang living at Bukit Emas, a place my dear friend Banks called a green desert?’

‘Yes, but not exactly the details.’

‘That accused possessed tegal, some sort of power of invulnerability. In fact, I captured Junit. During the execution, I noticed something that fascinated and inspired me about Islam. I have been thinking about it for a long time. After they reached the tree near the execution site, the corporal removed Junit’s prison-coat, and with a piece of chalk drew a circle of six inches radius upon his dark brown chest. Junit winked a few times as the bull’s eye was drawn over his heart. Then the ranger stretched out his arms and legs and strapped them to the cross bars. Then krissing started: they inserted a long kris downwards from inside the collar bone to the heart.

‘I can tell you that was totally unnecessary and H.H. [His Highness Rajah Vyner] since then has directed that a firing squad should be used.

‘However, the most amazing thing was that although exhausted from the long march Junit stayed completely calm, and was prepared to meet his death and Allah with fortitude and composure. Therefore, I think it must be the Islamic faith which had made him—like many Malays—have an inner strength, courage and calmness in the face of danger and adversity. That’s what I’ve learned from my native officer, Haji Moasili, the father of Haji Mustapha.’

‘Come on, Gerald. I am sure that’s not the only reason why you want to convert to Islam.’ Stephen concluded that Gerald wanted to be the dark horse in the race for the trophy of Sarawak’s succession.

‘My dear friend, what are you exactly implying?’ A slight irritation was audible in Gerald’s tone.

‘I mean there are several fringe benefits. The Malay ladies are pretty and dainty. You can choose four of them at any time or different stages of your life. I would imagine that the first one is a necessity; the second one a luxury; the third one suffering; and the fourth one punishment.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. But I can tell you this: Allah is great, merciful and understanding. After all, man is the basic cause for women’s dislike of one another. We are the only animal that eats when he is not hungry, drinks when he is not thirsty, that goes to sleep when he is not sleepy and gets up when he is, and makes love at all seasons,’ explained Gerald.

For a moment, Stephen imagined Gerald to be a fallen god who still remembered the heavens.

‘I hear that you are very keen on the police commissioner’s unofficial Nyai, Sarinah. I believe she is not only pretty but also a very good singer, endowed with many hidden talents.’

‘I can’t deny my infatuation, my dear friend.’

‘Well, certainly you have good taste.’

Gerald replied with hearty laughter.

‘Stephen, you are already a married man. I may be a born cynic. The book of marriage begins in poetry in the first chapter and ends the remaining chapters in prose. It’s like a bloody romantic novel in which the hero dies in the preface.’

‘I say… you do have weird ideas on love and marriage.’

‘Bah! marriage is but a tomb of love. Bernard Shaw once said: Marriage is like a fortress. Those who are in want to come out and those who are out want to go in. In the end both groups will be disappointed when the curiosity or the so-called romance wears off. In real life it seems to begin with Prince Charming kissing an alluring angel. After a while, it ends up with a fat, bald-pated man looking across the table at a fat grumpy woman over the unfinished potatoes, unwashed plates and grubby glasses.’

‘Gerald, I think the world is not safe with you around, especially the women.’

‘I love people and especially womenfolk. Mind you, great men have greater sexual appetites than ordinary people. And, I hope you will be an enemy of my enemy as Abraham Lincoln would say. However, if I have friends like you, I don’t need any enemies.’

‘Well, as far as I can see, your best friend is likely to be another you. You will always try to get even with your enemies and ahead of your friends.’

‘Great men are basically loners walking alone in the world. Heroes are lonely people; top pugilists are the loneliest people in the world of martial art. Friends, such as we desire, are dreams and fables.

Gerald let slip a contented sneaky smile and left the matter there and then.

Under that benign blue sky Stephen watched the sea birds fluttering against the breeze, listened to the soft wind brushing the deep sea, relished the soothing music of the waves, recalled his raptures on the lonely shores in bygone days, and wondered why in nature there are neither rewards nor punishments—but only consequences.

‘Let’s get back to the shore. I think it’s about 4.30. Let’s get back for tea,’ suggested Gerald.

‘That’s the most sensible thing you have said the whole day.’

As they paddled the long boat towards the shore, the sky suddenly darkened; bolts of lightning shot across the gloomy sky and claps of thunder followed one after another; a howling wind sprang up; and the waves started to surge and roll.

‘Lekas sekit—faster… faster,’ bid Stephen. The fear in the eyes of the Sea Dayak oarsmen confirmed that a tidal bore was coming to a head.

The rumbling of waves grew to a rolling; and the rolling grew to a mighty roaring; and men, fishes and reptiles fled the frightening tumbling bore. Within fifteen minutes when the boat was about fifty feet from the right side of the Batang Lupar bank, the roaring and rolling tidal bore locally called benak was only about hundred yards behind, swelling higher and higher with angry roars, and the white crests of the waves were surging continuously, leaving behind trails of pearly bubbles.

Two crocodiles were swimming towards the same river bank, fully realising the impact of the turbulent tidal bore. Everyone was racing towards the right river bank for cover.

Gerald was standing at the front of the long boat. As he jumped on to the muddy shore, his leaping motion pushed the bow of the longboat outward. Poor Stephen was stranded. Crocodiles on one side: tidal bore behind.

‘Jump! jump!’ cried Gerald.

As Stephen was just about to jump into the water, making for the river bank, the rolling tidal bore smashed the helpless long boat and tossed it up and down and overturned it mercilessly. The four oarsmen struggled for the shore.

It was too late. Stephen managed to get hold of a small tree on the river bank, bracing himself for the pounding of the surging and rolling tidal bore which slapped, steamrolled and damaged every object along its path like a whirling hurricane. Even the crocodiles were mercilessly tossed up and down; but they were smart—they suddenly dived below and disappeared.

Stephen prayed fervently while taking the beating of the lashing tidal bore. He survived and made his way safely to the shore. Gerald was already on dry land watching the whole episode in awe but made no attempt to rescue Stephen or the others. Three oarsmen made it to the shore safely. The fourth one was missing. Perhaps the legendary crocodile called Bujang Senang got a free meal, thought Stephen.

Later in the evening, Stephen entered in his dairy: A tragic fishing expedition. Tidal bore struck: One dead; lost everything except the longboat. No fish to show. Gerald is a madman, worse than I heard or imagined—some lucid intervals and a few happy pauses. Date: 18th March 1925.

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Chapter 2

I n that grey and stately monument, the Astana, the residence of the Rajah Brooke of Sarawak, Gerald made his opening gambit on the political chess-board. In his own interest, Stephen had to keep a close watch on the bizarre moves of Gerald who was known to play aggressively—sacrificing several pawns to check mate his opponent.

‘Stephen, why don’t your guest and you sit down.’ The petite Ranee Sylvia, dressed immaculately in black, gestured to her guests.

‘Ranee, this is Mr Gerald McBryan who is currently on furlough.’

Gerald stood up and bowed graciously. Ranee took an instant liking to his good looks, sharp nose, high forehead, his sparkling but sharp eyes and infectious smile.

‘Tell me, Mr McBryan, I hear that you are quite an authority on the subject of female succession under Islamic law in a Rajahship where there is no male heir.’ The Ranee got to the point quickly after an exchange of pleasantries.

‘Although I am not an expert, I do know quite a lot on that subject, Ranee.’ Gerald had done his homework already.

‘Well, as you may know, Vyner and myself have only three daughters, Leonora, Elizabeth and Valerie while Vyner’s younger brother, Tuan Muda Bertram has Peter, a troublesome and hard-headed type of fellow—totally unsuitable as a future Rajah of Sarawak. I am sure one day Peter will be disobeying and causing problems for H.H., and for the Committee of Administration [CA] and Administrative Service [AS] in the Brooke government.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that.’

‘Now, what I want you to do is simply to come up with an idea as to how to put up a case for Leonora becoming the future Rajah of Sarawak in the event of H.H.’s death. Do you think you can do that?’

‘Well, it’s not that simple.’

‘I know for sure that our Chief Justice is a stiff-necked snob, and the other senior expatriate officers haven’t got a clue on this subject. Stephen recommended that you could enlighten me on this matter and perhaps, do some research on the relevant Islamic law and history, since you speak and write Malay and Jawi well.’

‘Ranee, normally, females generally do not come into the succession under Islamic law and practice. However, I can quote you two precedents which, I believe, could be of use to you and bolster your case.’

‘That’s wonderful, I think I have found the right man for this job.’

The keen eyes of the Ranee widened gleefully.

‘Thank you, Ranee. During the sixteenth century, there was an Arab, by the name of Sharif Ali Bifakih who became the third Sultan of Brunei by marrying the second daughter of the Sultan. And when another Sultan died without a male heir in the later part of the century, he was succeeded by his daughter.

‘In Aceh, Sumatra, there was another precedent. There were four female rulers during the 19th century. Similarly, in Perak a daughter was allowed to succeed and her husband became the ruler. Needless to say that was the case also in Patani.’

‘That’s excellent. I’ll inform H.H. on this splendid news. You’ve really made my day, Gerald.’

‘But it won’t be easy, though.’

‘Why?’

‘I need to lobby that idea among the Datus and in the Malay communities. The Dayaks and the Chinese will be indifferent. The Rajahship is basically a Malay institution.’ For a moment, the megalomaniac Gerald imagined he was Napoleon talking to Josephine. ‘But I dare say that the word impossible is not to be found in my dictionary.’

‘I see. In that case what do you suggest?’

‘I could help to spread the idea if I am transferred to Kuching, Ranee.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘Right, I’ll make sure you get transferred to Kuching. Stephen, could you see to that?’

‘Perhaps, it would be more proper for you to speak to the Rajah and then let H.H. speak to the Chief Secretary,’ replied Stephen cautiously.

‘Ranee, I promise you, I will do everything within my power to make your dream come true,’ assured Gerald.

‘That will be simply marvellous. All right then. Have some tea and kueh.’

At once, Stephen realised that if this smooth and slippery python were to leave his lairs in Limbang and Sibu and set up a new one in Kuching, tempests would wrack Kuching town, the capital of Sarawak. For Gerald, lying and boasting seemed indistinguishable.

The Ranee could not hide her feverish excitement while Gerald’s smiles bespoke a hundred devilish schemes.

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Two months later, Gerald was transferred to Kuching. Rajah Vyner remembered his involvement in the Kapit Peace ceremony. Gerald had made a name for himself in 1924 at Kapit; he brought peace to the Kenyahs, Kayans and Sea Dayaks during the Bunoh Babi ceremonial pig killing. Gerald had a charisma that warmed the hearts of Vyner and the Ranee. Stephen thought that Gerald was moving too fast and was potentially dangerous—mad in his aims and ruthless in their execution, always recklessly confident of his achievement. A devil incarnate—almost.

A few months later, Vyner failed to resist Gerald’s persuasive tongue and appointed him his private secretary. Rajah Vyner, the weak aristocrat, hated to make decisions; Gerald loved to make firm decisions and was always able to put convincing arguments, regardless of the truth. That suited the Rajah admirably. Needless to say, Ranee’s words bore fruit too.

One day, Rajah Vyner and the Ranee invited the Datu Bandar, Abang Haji Abdillah, and the subject of female succession cropped up. Datu Bandar replied meekly in Malay. ‘Tuan Rajah and Ranee, I don’t think it’s a good idea. First of all, your brother, Rajah Muda, is the Heir Presumptive and he has a son Peter already. Secondly, I believe Mr McBryan might have influenced you both. Actually I think he has other ideas of his own. Furthermore, I don’t think the Malays and other races in Sarawak will welcome a female Rajah. You need a man as Rajah. Sarawak is different from Brunei, Aceh and Perak in many ways. We have the unique Brooke traditions. In fact, Mr McBryan tried to convince me. No disrespect, Rajah and Ranee, but I totally disagree with him.’

‘I see you are not keen on this wonderful idea,’ the Rajah sighed.

‘It’s not just me. I have talked to the kampong leaders and they agree with me.’

‘I see. Try your best to convince them. I know you can convince them.’

‘No way, Tuan Rajah, please accept my apology. You know your humble servant speaks what he thinks and I don’t beat about the bush. No hanky-panky, no ulterior motive, but only what’s acceptable to the Malay community and good for Sarawak and the Brooke family.’

The Ranee’s raised expectations were suddenly falling to pieces. There seemed little hope of nominating Leonora as Presumptive Heir. Something else had to be planned. Still, she would not completely give up her idea.

The following day, Vyner went to Simanggang and that evening, the Ranee paid a surprise visit to Gerald’s house, rented from a Teochew merchant, William Tan, in Pisang Road.

‘Gerald, we have big problems. That nincompoop and obstinate and arrogant Datu Bandar Abang Haji Abdillah has strongly objected to female succession on various grounds…’

‘I see… maybe this will work. If H.H. were to appoint me as the Secretary for Native Affairs in addition